Neighbors
by Spike Speigel1
Summary: It's a thin line between here and there. GSR.


Title: Neighbors  
Author: Spike Speigel  
Rating: PG-13  
Classification: Grissom/Sara  
Disclaimer: As usual, these characters don't belong to me. Just taking them for a joyride.  
Spoilers: General Season Seven.  
Summary: It's a thin line between here and there.  
Status: Finished.

His world is silent. So terribly silent that he wonders if there's anyone else in the world but him? So while lost in thought, the image in the mirror catches him off guard. It's him, but not exactly. More like a distorted version of himself, yet eerily familiar. Nevertheless, the distortion takes him aback. So much so that the silence he was once pondering is no longer palpable, instead being replaced with his chilling scream.

"Gil, was that you shouting?"

The remnant of toothpaste and saliva hang in his mouth as he examines the mirror in front of him, his toothbrush beginning to slip out of his hand. His palm presses against cold marble as the toothbrush resonates against the tensile material, echoing slightly throughout the bathroom. His other hand cautiously moves toward the mirror, probing fingers gently pressing against the cold, reflective surface, testing to see whether a portal to another dimension will pull him in and explain his previous vision.

Alas, it is not to be.

"Yeah, sorry."

"Care to explain?"

Grissom finally turns to his wife, instinctively wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he speaks.

"I thought I saw… You know what? Never mind. It was probably nothing, Sara."

He manages a small smile, hoping for reciprocity in kind. Instead, he is greeted with a half-hearted shrug and a "Why don't you go out and get the paper? I'll have breakfast on the table when you get back."

Before he can respond, she disappears from the doorway, footfalls fading down the hallway. Grissom turns back to the mirror, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he's forgetting something. Something important. However, it doesn't come to him, so he spits the fluoride remnants into the sink, turning on the faucet to eliminate any evidence that he was ever here.

* * *

"Heads up!"

Grissom is at the point of coherence that he's able to sidestep the oncoming projectile heading his way. In this case, the morning newspaper.

"You're going to kill me one of these mornings, H.G.!"

"Sorry, Mr. Grissom!"

And without turning back, the papergirl moves quickly down the sidewalk, tossing another paper from her satchel, this one on the lawn of his neighbor. Then the bicycle turns around the corner, disappearing from Grissom's sight.

"You okay, Grissom? You look kind of shaky."

Retrieving his paper from the porch, Grissom walks over to his neighbor, trying to shake the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm all right, Vincent."

"Trouble at work? Anything I can do to help maybe?"

Grissom sighs, realizing that he doesn't even know where to begin.

"You could say that." However, as Grissom is about to bare his soul to his neighbor, the sun reflecting off the object behind Vincent catches his eye. "Is that another new car?"

Vincent chuckles softly, his hand gently tracing the contour of the hood.

"Got to keep up appearances, Grissom. You know how it goes, especially in our line of work." Grissom questions with his eyes, Vincent catching the subtle gesture as he nods with a smile on his face. Grissom bends over slightly, pantomiming Vincent's movement previous, only this time across the trunk, working his way to the back to check out the chrome muffler sticking out ever so slightly from under the pristine automobile. "You should treat yourself once in a while."

This time it's Grissom that chuckles, the absurdity of the comment somehow lost on his neighbor.

"I could never afford…"

"Vincent, honey!" Both men turn their attention away from the new BMW sedan and focusing instead on the source of the new voice. "Could you drop me off at the club on your way to the office?"

Vincent replies, throwing Grissom a sly wink as he does so. "No problem, baby."

As the woman moves toward both men, her smile quickly begins to wane as she realizes the company her husband is keeping at the present moment.

"Oh. Hello, Gil."

Grissom can feel the animosity in every word, but keeps a pleasant demeanor nonetheless.

"Debbie."

Without looking at Grissom, Debbie manages to make her way to the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt as she continues talking.

"I haven't seen Sara at the club lately."

Vincent accompanies his wife into the vehicle, placing a small peck on her cheek before turning his attention to the ignition, keys at the ready. While the engine roars to life, Grissom responds to Debbie's veiled inquiry.

"Well, we're kind of on a budget and…"

"Shame. Tell her I said hi."

She never bothers to look at Grissom as Vincent pulls out of the driveway and speeds away. To tell the truth, had she looked, she would have seen Grissom in his bathrobe clutching at a crumpled newspaper, head slightly hung as he replied to her.

"Sure."

* * *

"Your breakfast is on the table. I'm on openings at Warrick's all week at I'm late. Can you get the kids to school?"

Even the sound of the paper falling onto the kitchen table sounds depressing as Grissom walks over to the window.

"Of course." Sara quickly collects her things, dropping a kiss on top of the heads of her two children, before walking past Grissom. However, his voice stops her from making it to the front door. "Sara…"

"What?"

Grissom still isn't sure how a house like Vincent's can be in the same neighborhood as him. After all, his house looks almost like one of those Scottish castles you see on the Discovery Channel while his looked like the kind of home you'd see on Cops.

He turns around to face Sara, his face and his tone somber. "Why's it so hard for me and Vincent makes it look so easy?"

He can hear the frustrated sigh in Sara's voice even before she speaks. "I really can't get into it now, honey…" She opens the door, Grissom thinking that's the end of the conversation. However, given the fact that the door doesn't slam shut immediately, Grissom knows that an answer is coming. "Maybe because you're you and he's him. I dunno. Just make sure Nick takes his Ritalin!"

"Oh…" The door slams shut, Grissom finishing his thought to no one in particular at this point. "…kay." Grissom turns back toward his two kids, Nick and Catherine, both indulging in their sugary confections drowned in milk. Grissom manages a meager smile. At least he got this much right.

"Daddy!"

"Yeah, Nicky?"

"Didja see Unca Vinny's new car?"

Catherine completes Nick's train of thought.

"It's so cool!"

Grissom's smile quickly disappears.

* * *

"Grissom!"

"Yu.." Grissom stirs from his state of meditation. Or as most nine-to-fivers call it, a daydream. "Yes, Mr. Sanders!"

"This is Michael Keppler. He's new to your department." Grissom can almost feel the knives coming out of Mr. Sanders eyes piercing into his chest as he continues to speak. "Show him the ropes."

"Yes. Yes, sir." Grissom extends his hand to the new hire, only to find that no such gesture is coming any time soon from the other side. Hoping to save face, Grissom turns back to his boss, hoping to fill in the awkward silence any way he can. "And what position is Keppler filling, sir?"

Sanders' answer is glib. To say the least.

"Unit supervisor! He's your new immediate superior! Vincent's moving up to Vice President of Operations."

"Oh." Grissom knows the emotion that laces his voice. He's been hearing it more and more often lately. It's the sound of dejection. And judging by the look on Keppler's face, he recognizes it too.

"And that's Mister Keppler, Grissom." Something between a sigh and a grunt escapes Grissom's lips, Grissom hoping that Keppler hasn't heard him. Fortunately, Keppler doesn't skip a beat as Sanders walks back to his office, leaving the two men to their devices. "Maybe you can brief me in my office. It's the one…"

"…with the view of the park."

"You know it, then?" The question is more rhetorical than anything else. Of course Grissom knows it. Because it should have been his, given the amount of work and energy he's put into this company. And for what?

"Gil! We've got a problem."

Grissom recognizes the voice, but he's still hoping this might be part of his day dream.

"Mr. Keppler, this is David Hodges. He's…"

"Your worst nightmare, Gil!"

"Problem?" Grissom already knows the answer if Hodges is here.

"Not unless you call basing next year's projections on bad numbers a problem. Then, no! We don't have a problem!"

"David…"

"This throws our whole budget out of whack, Gil! And the company's going to have to eat the difference!" Hodges leans closer to Grissom, almost to the point that it feels that he's towering over him like a giant about to grind him under his heel. "What the hell were you thinking of, Gil?"

Grissom can feel that scream from this morning coming on again.

* * *

"Hodges. He knew what he was doing showing me up in front of Keppler like that. And I should have had that promotion." Grissom can actually feel his body falling into the cushions of the armchair, either signifying that the cushions are extremely old or that portal from this morning somehow found its way into the living room.

"You didn't get ahead because they don't respect you."

Leave it to Sara to lighten the mood.

"Maybe I just don't have it." Grissom buries his face into his hands, hoping somehow that'll help the headache he can feel coming on.

"Isn't Vincent in your line of work?"

He steals a glance at his wife, noticing that she's not standing in one place as she talks to him. Maybe she's looking for something that she lost?

"So?"

"So, why don't you talk to him?"

She definitely isn't looking for anything in particular. She's just gathering up her things, like this morning.

"About what, Sara?"

"I don't know." Sara finally stops walking around, turning her attention to her husband, still slouched in the tattered armchair. "Maybe about how he does it. What he's doing right and…"

Grissom finishes his wife's sentence.

"…and what I'm doing wrong?"

"I didn't say that."

"You were going to." Sara rolls her eyes at Grissom, her brief respite from moving now a memory as she moves toward the front door. "Maybe you wish you were married to Vincent instead of me! And where are you going?"

Her look is just like this morning, but with more contempt if that was possible.

"Back to Warrick's. I'm pulling a double shift! Something I'll bet Debbie never dreams of doing!"

Grissom doesn't bother to respond to her. Simply because the door now separates them, the resounding slam still ringing in his ears.

* * *

He feels terrible about the way he left things with Sara. How could things have gotten so bad between them, he wonders to himself. Sure, they've had their rough patches like any other couple, but this was something different. It felt as though all they ever did nowadays was fight. And it was something Grissom was going to rectify.

Because Sara was his world. He remembered the oath. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse. And while things were as bad as they've been in a long while, she was still his world. He'd just forgotten that somewhere along the way while he was trying to get into that office with the view of the park.

But Grissom realized that it was just an office. All that mattered was Sara.

"Dadddd! Nick pushed me!"

"Did not!"

Even the shoe that came sailing from the back seat and grazed his temple couldn't ruin this moment.

"Did too!"

"Liar!"

"Double liar!"

All that mattered was Sara. He just hoped she wouldn't get mad that he showed up like this at her place of work.

* * *

"Is Sara on break?"

The confused look on Archie's face concerned Grissom, simply because Archie was the type of fellow that never got that confused look on his face.

"Sara's not working tonight."

"But she told me…"

"Look, I'm telling you, Gil. She's not scheduled tonight."

Grissom could feel the sense of dread creeping back into him. The same he'd felt when she'd slammed the door on him earlier.

"Then where is she?"

Archie tried to be as gentle as possible, but there really was no other way to say what he had to say.

"She's not my wife, man."

* * *

"Grissom?"

Grissom looked up from his computer monitor, even though his screen was blank. He hasn't been able to work ever since leaving Warrick's.

"Mr. Sanders?"

"Is something wrong, Grissom?"

He must be dreaming. Maybe he should pinch himself. Sanders showing a modicum of concern? Something was definitely off.

"I'm…I'm not sure. It's like the walls are closing in. Like everything's going wrong at once. Do you know what I'm talking about, sir?"

"Look, I know something that might help."

"Really?" Maybe Grissom was wrong about Sanders. "How can you help me, Mr. Sanders?"

"No, you misunderstand. I meant help me." Grissom's countenance quickly switched from one of hope to one of despair once he realized where Sanders was going with all of this. "Get your sorry ass out of my department! Go the hell home until you're over whatever the hell you're going through!"

Grissom made a mental note. Never doubt your first impression.

Ever.

* * *

Upon walking toward his house, Grissom couldn't help but notice the cable truck sitting in the driveway, resulting in Grissom walking up the driveway from the street instead of parking in the garage like he always did once he came home from work. But it wasn't the cable truck that piqued Grissom's curiosity. It was the fact that it was parked behind Sara's car.

He could already see the scene play out in his mind before even opening the door, even though he kept on hoping that it was just his mind running away with him. Unfortunately, once he saw what Sara was wearing on the other side of the door, he realized that his mental note about Mr. Sanders was true even here.

"Sara, I thought you were at work."

Sara thought for a moment about hiding the bottle of champagne and the flute behind her back, but since she was only dressed in a baggy button-up shirt, she felt that hiding anything at this point was bordering on stupidity. Instead, she decided to take the initiative.

"Funny, I thought you were at work too."

It was the laugh at the end that set Grissom off. He lunged forward, grasping Sara's wrists in his hands, both champagne bottle and glass flute falling onto the carpet.

"Sara, what's going on?"

"You're…hurting me…"

"Talk to me, Sara! Where were you last night?"

"She was with me."

Grissom turned his gaze away from Sara, who continued to writhe in his grasp, looking over her shoulder toward the kitchen to see the source of the answer. The source seemed comfortable without his shirt on. And his pants.

"And who are you?"

"Name's Hank Peddigrew." The stranger walked into the living room, casually grabbing a pair of trousers that were hanging from the back of the couch and sliding into them as he continued. "I guess that makes you Gil."

Grissom's grip relaxed just enough for Sara to free herself from him. Her momentum caused her to stumble backward, into Grissom's tattered armchair. Grissom's gaze kept moving between the grinning cable guy and the woman wearing the cable guy's shirt, trying to form a coherent thought.

He failed.

"Whu…what…Sara?"

She never looked at Grissom as she answered his fragmented query.

"You need a house to fall on you to figure it out?"

No. He didn't need a house. Because he figured it out before he even opened the door.

* * *

"I'm afraid Mr. Lurie is preoccupied at the moment. Could you possibly make an appointment for…"

Grissom was tired of being the good guy at this point, instead getting right in the face of Vincent's secretary.

"No! No appointments! I have to see him now!"

He expected the secretary to call security after that outburst. However, instead of resorting to that option, the secretary nodded toward the office door before returning to her game of solitaire. Grissom was about to apologize to the secretary but thought better of it. Instead, he stepped inside Vincent's office, greeted by his smiling face.

"Hey, neighbor. What can I do for you?"

"I need help, Vincent." Grissom practically stumbled toward Vincent, somehow making it to the leather chair opposite Vincent's oak table, slumping into it as though he had nothing left to drive him. "I need a friend."

"Anytime. So, what's bothering you?"

"God, where do I begin. My job? My marriage? How about my entire life? What did I miss?" Grissom slouched forward, his eyes having trouble focusing on Vincent. Must be the darkness of the room, he thought to himself. "How did I do everything so wrong?"

"Come on. You're exaggerating."

Grissom ignored Vincent's comment.

"You make it all look so easy while I work so hard and I get nowhere."

"It's about believing in yourself. All it takes is the willingness to take chances. I'm talking about guts. Possibly a severed torso."

Grissom furrowed his brow, unsure about what he had just heard.

"What?"

This time it was Vincent that ignored Grissom.

"Let me demonstrate, neighbor." With a quick flick of the intercom button, he began talking to his secretary. "Sofia, would you please send in Nicky?"

"As you wish, sir."

Artificial light poured into the darkened room, which was odd since this office had a view of the park just like Keppler's. Grissom looked over his shoulder to see his son running into the room.

"Nick? How did…"

Instead of going to Grissom, Nick ran over to Vincent, both standing on the opposite side of the large oak table, the park directly behind them. Not to mention many stories down.

"Never mind that, neighbor. Let's get back to the demonstration, shall we?" Grissom nodded even though it was more of a reflex than actual agreement. "What does Nick mean to you?"

"Mean?" Grissom didn't hesitate to answer. "He's my son. My first child. I'd do anything for him."

It was the subtlest of changes, but Vincent's smile had turn from friendly to sinister in a matter of seconds.

"Prove it."

Before Grissom realized what was happening, Vincent had thrown Nick through the plate glass window directly behind him. Grissom leapt from the chair, running toward the shattered window, watching as Nick plummeted toward the park below.

"You…you…"

"Only you can save him, Gil."

"I…I can't."

"You'll never know unless you try."

Grissom and Vincent's eyes met for the briefest of moments before Grissom felt the heel of Vincent's shoe dig into the small of his back. Then the rushing air all about him as he fell toward his son.

* * *

Grissom could feel something warm and wet beneath him, his eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness. When did it get this dark so early? As he tried to regain focus, he could hear a familiar voice just behind him.

"Tough luck, Mr. Grissom."

"Whu…" Grissom's vision came back. Unfortunately, the first thing he was able to make out was Nick's lifeless body, broken and mangled from the fall, the warm, wet sensation finally registering to Grissom. It was his son's blood. "My God…"

"Looks like you blew it, Mr. Grissom.

"Nick." Grissom made no effort to stop the tears from coming. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't beat yourself up, Mr. Grissom. Failing's not that big a deal."

Grissom finally turned around to the sound of the voice, a familiar figure waiting for him on a ten-speed.

"H. G.? Aren't you a little off your route?"

She didn't answer his question.

"I'm like you. I try to do too much. I'm real hard on myself." The papergirl adjusted her cap. "That kind of pressure can kill you."

It was the adjusting of the cap that caught Grissom's attention. In that brief moment, Grissom thought he saw someone he recognized.

"What's your name, H.G.? Is that short for something?"

"Holly." She tilted her head back just enough to reveal her entire face. Well, what was left of it barring the decomposition. "Holly Gribbs."

Once more, just like the beginning of the day, Grissom screams.

* * *

This time Grissom feels the impact of the fall. However, it's not a fall from an office window. Instead, it's mere inches from a rickety old cot. Unfortunately, he finds that the world around him is still dark so he begins to feel his way around the floor, looking for anything that might tell him where he is. It isn't long until the darkness and silence is interrupted by a familiar chime. A sound that Grissom knows very well.

He crawls to the source of the high pitch, the familiar blue light guiding him. He's so focused on his current task that he never entertains the thought about why he's unable to walk. Grissom manages to eventually claw his way to the small object, his eyes narrowing slightly as he brings it up to his ear. For some reason, the light hurts his eyes.

He flips the phone open, listening intently because he has just discovered that he's also unable to talk. It doesn't really matter, because it's not an incoming call, but instead a text message. Grissom tries his best to read it, the light still hurting his eyes.

ATROPINE IN SYSTEM.

SEEK IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION.

WHAT GETS UNDER YOUR SKIN?

TMK.

Grissom closes the screen out, this time scrolling through his phone numbers because he can't remember which number speed dials her. There's a sense of trepidation once he reaches the number he's looking for, but if the text message was true, everything he just experienced was just an hallucination. He prays that he's right as he hits the send button.

"Grissom? Where are you? We've been worried sick!" Grissom doesn't bother to answer since the drug in his system is currently affecting his blood-brain barrier. If he could talk, it'd be nothing but gibberish. "Grissom?"

Instead, he lays next to his phone, hoping that Sara will be able to find him.

* * *

Everything in between is touch and go, but Grissom can recollect a few details. He remembers Jim coming down the stairs with Sofia right behind him. He remembers the sound of the ambulance's siren and the poor shocks that caused the gurney to bounce more rigorously than it should have. He remembers a slew of masked faces surrounding him as they poked and prodded his arms with sharp needles.

And he remembers the drive home with Sara.

He remembers her standing with him in the shower as she cleaned his bruised and dirty body. He remembers her carefully dressing him and placing him under the covers.

And he remembers her sliding into bed next to him, her arms encircling his torso, her head resting above his heart.

And that's how things have been since.

No words spoken between them. Most likely paying heed to the doctors' instructions.

Photophobia. Tachycardia. Nausea. Dizziness. Confusion.

Confusion caused by hallucinations. Hallucinations caused by a man that Grissom has yet to meet even though he keeps on leaving his perverse gifts for Grissom to decipher.

So Sara takes away any external stimuli that might detrimentally affect him save for her touch. She lays next to him, just content in the fact that she's able to. And in that moment, Grissom realizes that he has nothing to fear as he closes his eyes, allowing sleep to finally envelop him. He remembers one last thought before slipping into unconsciousness.

Sara.

It's a good thought.

_Fin._


End file.
